


Isn't It Romantic?

by belovedmuerto



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: EiE, Empath, Empathy, Fluff, M/M, empath!John, empath!verse, valentines day, valentines fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 08:01:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/684672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belovedmuerto/pseuds/belovedmuerto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly tells Sherlock he should do something nice for John for Valentines Day. You can imagine how well this goes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Isn't It Romantic?

**Author's Note:**

> I don't generally indulge in the "write a fic because it's a holiday!" thing. But this flicked me between the eyes when I woke up this morning. And I knew it would be relatively short, and knew I could finish it. Which is nice, as the writing has been slow going since I got back from Italy. So you're being asked to read it. And ENJOY IT, DAMMIT.
> 
> Thanks to thisprettywren for taking a quick look at it for me.

“Where’s John?” Lestrade asks. He looks confused that John isn’t at Sherlock’s side. Which, for the love of God, John doesn’t actually follow him around like a dog all the time. Not really, despite what people think. He’d asked John to come along, because he always asks, because he prefers it when John is with him, but John had winced when Sherlock had told him the few details Lestrade had provided, and said, sadly, “I don’t think I can handle that today, Sherlock. Will you be OK without me?”

Sherlock had grumped, but acquiesced. He would be OK, he’d be fine, really. They do function as separate entities, despite the jabs he pretends he doesn’t hear from the Yarders at crime scenes. Sometimes John feels like he can’t handle the vestigial emotions of the murders they see so often and decides to stay home, that’s all.

In the background, Anderson is somehow smirking and glaring at the same time. Sherlock glares at him briefly, reminds himself of what John is forever telling him--Anderson is not worth his time or his vitriol. Sometimes it nearly sinks in.

“John is at home,” he replies. He gives Lestrade a penetrating look; something is off. _Oh_. “You’re wearing one of my brother’s shirts.”

“Ah, no. No, I’m not.” And Greg blushes. 

“He gave you a shirt? Why?”

Greg chuckles at him. “Because it’s Valentine’s Day?”

There’s more to it than that, because Greg is blushing again; Mycroft had done something more than just give Greg a shirt--and a tie, actually--for a silly, made up holiday.

Sherlock decides it’s the better part of not caring simply not to ask any further questions about Mycroft’s sartorial choices for his--whatever Greg is. Boyfriend? Significant other? He has no idea which word his brother would prefer, nor does he have any desire to know.

Sherlock turns his attention to what’s important, to the scene, to the clues that beg to be seen, to be interpreted, to tell him their story.

\--

“Sherlock, what are you doing here?” Molly asks. She seems surprised, and a little wary.

There’s a bouquet of yellow daisies on her desk in the corner. They are bright and cheerful. There’s a card stuck in amongst them with a printed message on it: “Happy Valentine’s Day, Molly! Thanks for putting up with us. Love, John and Sherlock.”

_Why did John send her flowers? Why daisies?_

Sherlock looks up from the body to her and then back again. “I’m fairly certain I’m examining this corpse, Molly. But please, feel free to correct me if I’m wrong.”

She makes an exasperated sound. “Shouldn’t you be doing something with John?”

He looks up again, confused this time. “Why?”

“It’s Valentines Day?”

Sherlock snorts and returns his attention to the corpse. 

Unfortunately, Molly’s words have taken hold, and he spends the next fifteen minutes telling himself he needs to be concentrated on the mystery before him, not on checking repeatedly that John isn’t feeling angry with him.

“Are you doing anything later, then?” she asks, eventually. He’d thought she had left.

“Investigating a murder,” Sherlock replies. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Molly shake her head and roll her eyes at him.

“Well, did you get anything for John?”

Sherlock sighs in exasperation. “Why on earth would I get anything for John?”

“Because it’s Valentine’s Day, Sherlock! And you and John are together.”

“So?”

“You’re supposed to do something nice for the person you love on Valentine’s Day.” She’s glaring at him now, indignant at his slight against John.

It doesn’t take an empath to see that she’s upset with him. She empathizes with John in this, despite John’s not being here to let Sherlock know if he _wants_ anything for Valentines Day. 

Sherlock is afraid he would. John is, in some ways, very normal. He likes the gestures. He likes silly holidays like this. Probably. Most likely. Damn.

“I think John would like it if you got him something,” Molly adds, voice quiet. After a few more moments of watching him, while he concentrates on the body and watches her out of the corner of his eye, she throws her hands up briefly and rolls her eyes again.

“I’m going to get a coffee,” she says.

“Black, two sugars,” Sherlock replies.

When she’s gone, Sherlock feels around in his head again, quickly, for that little bit of John that he carries with him always. John isn’t feeling angry with him at all, which should be reassuring, but somehow is not at all. 

At this point, John is out and about, running errands. If Sherlock’s mental geography is accurate, and it rather is, John is at the Tesco Express down the street from the flat. He’s vaguely annoyed at something, but Sherlock is pretty sure it’s not himself.

When she returns from the cafeteria with coffee for both of them, he is staring at nothing, the body completely forgotten. He ignores her, ignores the cup of coffee she holds out, ignores her “Sherlock?”, and sweeps out of the morgue without another word.

\--

John is sat in his armchair watching what appears to be Doctor Who when Sherlock rushes in. He looks up with surprise on his face; it morphs into a smile at Sherlock’s harried expression, his wide eyes, the color in his cheeks. John doesn’t get up from his chair, but Sherlock can feel the mental hug, the tendril of comfort he sends along their connection.

“You went to the store, didn’t you?” John’s eyes are smiling, and that, too, is comforting to Sherlock. “What possessed you to go to the store today of all days? I had to go earlier for milk and bread, and it was awful. And that was just Tescos.”

Sherlock holds out the bag in his hand. “I got you this.”

John stands up and crosses the room to where Sherlock stands, stiff, unsure. John stands close to him, well within the bounds of personal space. Sherlock likes when John stands too close, he likes it as much as he hates whenever anyone else gets too near him. John takes the bag from Sherlock’s hand and looks inside.

“You got me _Skyfall_ on dvd?”

Sherlock nods, still stiff. He clasps his hands behind his back, to avoid fidgeting, to avoid touching John in any way right now. “It’s Valentine’s Day. I’m supposed to get you something romantic.”

John bursts out laughing.

Sherlock crosses his arms and, for lack of a better term, pouts. 

John laughs for a solid minute, holding the bag in one hand and holding on to Sherlock with his other. His amusement feels good in Sherlock’s head, warm and vibrant, full of joy and love, good enough that he’s not insulted by being laughed at. Or with, whichever.

“Is it... wrong?” Sherlock asks. For a moment, he looks unbearably young, and John can imagine him giving unfortunate valentines to his mother and brother as a child, that he’d been told were ‘wrong’.

John sobers. “No. No, not at all, Sherlock. You just didn’t have to. You don’t have to get me anything for this stupid holiday. I don’t need presents from you.”

“You bought Molly flowers.”

John nods. “It’s nice to do something for people sometimes. I thought Molly would appreciate it; I don’t think she’s got anyone this year to send her roses. And I figure she deserves it; she puts up with us. With you.”

“You put up with me.”

“Yes, but I get to regularly have orgasms with you, too.”

Sherlock blushes. He’s still not used to that, used to wanting John physically as well as emotionally. It’s new territory for him. This is all new territory for him, fraught with confusion and land mines and his complete lack of knowledge about what constitutes romantic. 

Which is why he’s taking advice from Molly Hooper of all people. Although he suspects she has more experience with this than he does.

“She said I’m supposed to do something nice for you.” Sherlock hates how small his voice sounds, how unsure.

“Oh, is that what prompted this?” John is still amused, and pleased; warm and happy and close.

Sherlock nods. 

John smiles up at him again. He seems content to stand near and smile up at Sherlock. 

“Do you want to go out for dinner?” Sherlock ventures. He’s completely at sea when it comes to “romance.” Dinner is supposed to be romantic, right? They eat dinner together regularly, but he’s never thought of it as romantic before.

“On Valentines Day? Fuck, no.”

“Well, what do you want to do? We’ll do whatever you want, John.”

John is still smiling, still content and close. He sets the dvd down on the coffee table and helps Sherlock take off his coat and scarf, hangs them behind the door (because Sherlock, of course, never does). “Let’s order from that Chinese place you like and watch the movie, how about that?”

“Really? That’s it?”

John smiles. “Haven’t you figured out how easy I am to please, Sherlock? I don’t need gestures to know how you feel--that’s the benefit of being an empath. I don’t need any of that. Stuck with me, remember?”

Sherlock nods. “That... would be nice,” he says slowly. “Is this film as ridiculous as the others?”

John laughs again. “You’ll probably hate it. You can try to seduce me if you get bored.”

Sherlock smiles. “All right.”

**Author's Note:**

> In other news, I *am* working on the brewmaster 'verse. So hopefully you'll see the first bit of that sooner as opposed to later.


End file.
